


The Birthday Gift

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Action, Animal Death, F/M, Fluff, Hunting, NSFW, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-03-10 06:44:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13496876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: While wintering in the Dark Forest with the goblins Marianne wants to make a meaningful gesture for Bog's birthday, but the effect her gift has on him is......not what she expected...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alexx (Vampirerex1)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampirerex1/gifts).



> Prompt I received from Alexx (Vampirerex1)! Props to them for being SO patient with me, but I got so inspired once the holidays were over, I had to make this a 2-parter and post chapter one on Alan Cumming's birthday! Hope you enjoy the first half!!!  
> Warning: There is animal death, but it's not graphic!

“Psst!  Griselda!”

From her spot at the kitchen table, the former goblin queen glanced up from her book and swallowed her nibble of jerky to smile at her son’s significant other.

“Hello, dear!  How are you?”

“Shh, I’m fine,” Marianne hissed, waving for the elder to be quiet as she slipped into the thankfully otherwise empty kitchen, “but can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure!  Why are we whispering?”

“I…I overheard Stuff and Thang talking yesterday, and they said Bog’s birthday is coming up?”

“That’s right; end of this month.  Why?”  Griselda asked, closing her book and giving her (someday) future daughter-in-law her full attention.  The lustful adventures of the strong, roguish Sir Talon and his headstrong, virginal love, Lady Wisteria, could wait, for now. 

Marianne dropped into the closest chair and took a deep breath. 

“I need your help; I don’t know what to get him.”

“…”

“…”

“Oh, honey!” Griselda chuckled at last, relieved that all this secrecy wasn’t apparently critical.  “You don’t need to get him anything!  _You’re_ all he’s ever wanted and _more_.”

A blush darkened Marianne’s cheeks, and she chewed her lip. 

“…I-I, uh…I appreciate that, but I still wanna give him something special anyway.”

“I understand, sweetie, but you shouldn’t worry about it.”  The old queen said, patting Marianne’s arm.  “He’ll love whatever you get him because it came from _you_.”

“But that’s just it!  I don’t want him to love it for _my_ sake!”  Marianne exclaimed.  “I want him to love the gift for _itself_ ; and that’s the whole problem!  I mean, what do you get for someone who already has _everything_?  What do you give a _king_?”

Griselda stared at the princess for a moment before her mouth spread into a sly grin.

“…How about a _queen_?”

“We’re _still_ not _there_ yet, Griselda.”  Marianne frowned, though her face maintained its red hue and her eyes were soft.

“I know, I know, I’m just teasing!  Kinda…”

She playfully nudged the fairy with a giggle, but was soon drumming her fingers on the tabletop in serious thought.

“Well…still, what if your gift…wasn’t exactly _tangible_?”

“Huh?”

“You’re right.  Being king, Bog has more treasures than he could possibly know what do to with in _ten_ lifetimes.  So, what if your gift wasn’t an _object_ …but a…… _gesture_ of some kind?”

“…Okay…I like that idea.”  Marianne replied, tapping her chin in consideration.  “But what could that be?  What would mean a lot to him?”

“Mmm…let me think.  You know…as a king, he takes……great _pride_ in his kingdom; his _culture_.  Perhaps…you could do something that shows you have the same amount of love and respect for his people?”

Light sparked in Marianne’s eyes at the suggestion and she sat up straighter in her seat with a smile. 

“Hey, _yeah_!  Yeah, that’s _brilliant_!  Let’s see, um……how about, like a goblin rite of passage?”

“Rite of _what_ now?”

“Rite of passage.”  The princess repeated.  “It’s a phrase meaning a ritual or ceremony or something that marks an important transitional event in your life.  Excluding _marriages_ , do you have anything like that over here?  Basically, something that celebrates your… _goblin-iness_?”

Griselda smirked at the fairy’s made up word, but didn’t let it distract her for more than a second.

“Ah, I gotcha!  Sure, we have lots of stuff like that!”

“Great!  What could I do?”

“You could-!  Oh, dear…”

“What’s wrong?”  Marianne demanded, frowning as the old queen trailed off.

“It’s just that…we’re in the middle of _winter_.”  Griselda explained.  “There’s really not much that goes on around here of any real cultural significance until the summer or fall.”

Marianne groaned and flopped back against the chair, rubbing her temples.

“Are you serious?  Ugh!  Then we’re back where we started!”

“Now hold on, hold on!  Not necessarily.”  Griselda soothed.  “This just means it’ll be on the smaller scale.  We’ll have to-”

At the abrupt cutoff, Marianne glanced up to see Griselda’s frozen expression: hands suspended in the air, and beady brown eyes blown open wide as the gears clicked in her frizzy red head.

“Wait!  I’ve got it!”  She finally exclaimed, making Marianne flinch.  “First Kill!”

“…What?”

“First Kill!”  Griselda repeated.  “For the hunt!  It’s _perfect_!  If a goblin manages to get First Kill on a hunt, it’s a great honor!  It proves that they’re a capable and reliable member of the pack!  It’s not _exactly_ a rite of passage since not every goblin becomes a hunter, _but_ only the _best_ hunters in the forest are allowed to run with the king!” 

“But I’ve been on hunts with Bog before and I haven’t killed anything.”

The gobliness shrugged.

“He probably doesn’t think you need to.  You’re there because he _wants_ you by his side; he knows your strength and he _trusts_ you.  You’ve proven yourself a warrior _plenty_.”

“Which means…” Marianne said slowly, beginning to put the pieces together, “ _this_ would be a significant way for me to say that I love and respect him and his people, and _want_ to belong in the group _properly_ even though I’m not a goblin.”

“Yes!”

A dazzling smile lit up the princess’s face and she clapped her hands in excitement.

“Ha!  I love it!  It _is_ perfect!  So, I’m assuming that in order to get First Kill, I’d have to be the one to deliver the killing blow to our target?”

“That’s correct.”

At the confirmation, a pause ensued, and Marianne’s newfound joy dimmed.

“…That might be a problem.”

“How so?”

“Well, normally, I just hang back when it’s time for the real takedown, and provide backup assault if and when needed.”  The fairy answered, and nervously tugged at a lock of her cropped hair. 

“Oh, but that’s all when you were hunting much _larger_ prey.”  Griselda argued.  “We’re lucky to find anything bigger than a raccoon in the winter!  You’ll be able to handle it; no problem!”

“But…Bog and Brutus and…all the rest of them, they’re…they’re so much more skilled at it than I am.  I’m still a beginner at this kind of stuff.  They’re better trackers, they’re faster, stronger, they’re used to long periods in the cold…”

“I see.”  Griselda murmured.  “Well, I’m not sure what else to tell you other than you’ll just have to be smarter and quicker, which I _really_ do think _you_ can handle.”

When the princess remained silent and obviously doubtful, the former queen sighed and scooted her chair closer to wrap a comforting arm around Marianne’s shoulders.

“Listen, sweetie.  I have faith in you; and _you_ should, too.  Because you’re not doing this for _yourself_ , you’re doing it for _Bog_.  You focus on that, and there’s _no_ way you can fail.  You’ll make him very, _very_ happy.  I promise.”

“…Okay……I’ll…I’ll try my best, then.  Thanks, Griselda.”

“’Atta girl; and you’re welcome!”  

* * *

 

“On yer left!  On yer left!”

Stressed air puffed through Marianne’s cheeks as she jogged along the ground in the appropriate direction being shouted to the rest of the goblin hunters.  It was a relatively warmer winter day than usual, but to a fairy, the cold still had plenty of bite.  There was no wind, and the snow was thin, but wet; a real freakin’ treat to run through. 

Her wardrobe had been customized for both the weather and the rigorous task of hunting.  She wore her usual knee-high boots and leggings, though the material of the latter had been traded from cotton to wool.  Her long tunic of grey rabbit fur was sleeveless, offset by her elbow length, fingerless gloves that matched her leggings.

But the most interesting part of her ensemble was her wing-pack. 

She’d been touched at how accommodating and creative the goblins were when it came to figuring out a way for her wings to say nice and cozy in such harsh temperatures.  Her distinct purple appendages were folded as tight as she could manage, and then gently rolled up into a fleece-lined bag attached to leather straps sewn into her tunic. 

It certainly wasn’t the most _comfortable_ of solutions, and her wings appreciated the good stretch she gave them whenever she took the pack off at the end of the day, but despite that, as well as the bulky size of the bag, reaching just past her knees, it was thankfully light and very toasty. Plus, Bog had put his own personal touch on the invention by weaving a pair of special cords into the side seams, so that if necessary, she could pull them and free her wings in an instant, though she’d need someone else to help her tuck and secure them back in again.         

Running up onto the protruding root of a sycamore for a better view of her pack-mates trying to herd a chipmunk into the kill zone, she clenched her fists and silently begged over and over for a _huge_ stroke of luck this round.  This three-day hunting stint so far had been going as usual, the inner circle caught and dispatched the prey while she covered her section of the perimeter.  Much to her frustration, she’d almost had an opportunity yesterday afternoon when the line holding the muskrat they’d tracked slipped and the creature had started racing in her direction, but Thang and Gus had roped it again at the last second.  Dung beetles!

Well, now her senses were on high alert and her body was practically shaking with anxious energy.  This was the final hunting day of the month, Bog’s actual birthday.  Her last chance, and she just _had_ to make it count!      

The goblin himself was currently circling the area overhead, keeping his protective eye on everyone and occasionally throwing her a smile whenever he happened to look her way.  It filled her with warmth and _tripled_ her resolve to ensure her plan’s success. 

_Please, please!  Let something go wrong!  One shot, that’s all I ask!  I gotta do this for him!  He means the world to me!  Please!_

“WOAH!”

At the alarmed holler, Marianne froze and strained to see what was going on in the center, but the group had gone behind a snow bank.   

“Dammit!  Wake up, Thang!”  She heard Stuff scold.  “Somebody, head it off!  _Southeast_!”

_That’s me!!!_

Instantly, Marianne saw a frantic ball of brown fur come scrambling over the top of the bank, sprinting towards her sycamore for safety, and bless the _skies_ , it had enough of a head-start that no one was close enough behind to stop it!  Only _she_ could.

Thinking quickly, Marianne slid off the root and crouched down to hide before the animal could spot her and veer off.  Poking a single finger through the dirt and snow underneath, she watched the animal approach and counted down the seconds before she could make her perfect strike, remembering everything that Bog and the other goblins had taught her.

“Get ready, Tough Girl,” she whispered, “here it comes.”

Ha, she even talked to herself like Bog would.  If that wasn’t real love… 

_Three…_

_Two…_

**ONE!**

Time seemed to slow as the unsuspecting chipmunk made a flying leap over the root and Marianne shot to her feet, sword drawn and aimed true.  Past the creature’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a panicked Bog flying as fast as he could to the tree.

“Marianne!  WATCH OUT!!!”  He screamed.

And then the unfortunate animal fell, surrounding Marianne in darkness.  Not for long however; despite the press of her sword’s handle in her stomach and the hot, heavy weight crushing her down, she managed to release her weapon and shift her footing.  Grabbing handfuls of the bloody fur on top of her, she summoned all the raw strength she possessed in her slim, fairy body, and pushed upward.  It was quite a feat; her arms felt like they were on fire and her knees shook with the effort, but finally, she was able to see light again.  With one last furious groan, she had her prey held high above her head, and was staring into the wide eyes of her pack mates. 

They had all climbed over the root she’d previously perched on, obviously in an attempt to aid her, but her display of power had them all astounded.  Marianne grinned a bit at the awed attention, but her focus was solely on the utterly speechless and gaping Bog King, whose mouth was slightly ajar and whose gaze couldn’t seem to decide where to settle on her.

Unable to restrain her full smile any longer, Marianne tossed the chipmunk to the ground at Bog’s feet, and in a pleased, but panting voice, firmly declared:

“I claim First Kill.  Happy Birthday, Bog.”    

Bog just blinked dumbly at her as the rest of the goblins began to break from their stunned silence and congratulate her. 

“Hey, nice one, your highness!”  Stuff praised.

“Yeah!”

“Way to go, Lady Marianne!”

“You’re amazing!”  Thang gushed. 

Brutus and Gus even began to chant!

“First Kill!  First Kill!  Huh-Huh-Huh!  First Kill!  First Kill!  Huh-Huh-Huh!” 

As Marianne blushed under their cheers, she watched Bog and awaited his response.  She really hoped he liked his gift, but save for his flickering eyes, he was like a statue.  His astonished expression was unwavering, and it was starting to make her nervous. 

Gradually, everyone else calmed and appeared to get the same idea as the princess, glancing at their king inquisitively.

“E-erm…yes, w-well…” Bog stammered at length once he realized everyone was gawking at him, “…th-thank ye, Marianne.  Tha-tha-that’s…very thoughtful…of ye……an’ congratulations…uh……r-right!”

Abruptly, he launched into the air, clutching his staff tightly in front of him with both hands. 

“Ah…everyone go on ahead an’…g-get this thing back to the burrow…” he ordered as he slowly drifted further away towards the northwestern trees, “...I, um…I n-need to……sc-scan the area…in case it had a mate or somethin’ nearby!  Off ye all go!” 

Marianne, frowning in confusion, took a step in his direction.

“Wh-?  Bog?”

“I worn’t be long!”  He practically yelped before turning and flying off like a loose arrow into the quiet forest.   

“Bog, wait!”

As Bog vanished into the woods, and the goblins worked to scoop up her kill and obey their master’s command, an icy sliver of dread spread through Marianne’s limbs.  Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.  Had she done something wrong?  Did he…not like her present?  That didn’t seem likely.  She could read him pretty well, and he’d looked immensely impressed, surprised, and even appreciative; everything she’d wanted.  So, why did he suddenly bail?  And why did he act so uncomfortable and awkward?

Well, she wasn’t about to go back to the burrow and sit on her hands, waiting to find out!

Without a word to the remaining hunting party, Marianne withdrew and sheathed her sword, seized the cords on her tunic, and with a sharp yank, the pack split open and her wings burst forth like the first blossoms of spring.  She took to the air in a heartbeat, darting after Bog as quick as her fairy body would allow. 

Almost immediately, she became aware of a sticky residue on her hands.  Glancing down, her eyebrows rose as she saw that it was blood.  In fact, she was nearly _covered_ in it.  That and dirt, melted snow, and sweat…sheesh, she was a mess!  Griselda would surely give her an earful for ruining her outfit.   

But she couldn’t afford to worry about that right now.  The frigid air stung the delicate chitin of her wings, and it was _incredibly_ fortunate that the sun was shining without a single cloud in the sky, but regardless, wherever Bog had gone, she _desperately_ hoped it wasn’t far. If she went into torpor out here all alone, she’d be in _big_ trouble.       

Fate must’ve been _really_ on her side today, for in the grey and white stillness of the Dark Forest, her sensitive ears picked up on the subtle, dry flitter of Bog’s wings somewhere up ahead to her right, and she thought she saw a skinny shadow zip behind some icicles towards the earth. 

When she reached the spot, her eyes soon zeroed in on the trunk of an aging pine tree.  At the base, she could see an opening in the roots.  An abandoned warren, perhaps?

Curious, she touched down at the entrance and felt a wave of relief when she was met with the sight of Bog’s distinct footprints heading inside.  With no hesitation, she stepped into the cave, which had been left either by nature or its digger(s) as a large, round-ish room of wood and soil.  There was very little light, and she opened her mouth to call out, but paused when she heard a sound.

A very peculiar sound…

Breathing.

Hard, rapid breathing.

It was Bog’s breathing, no doubt about that, and it was coming from her left.  Peering into the shadows, she could just make out the towering shape of her consort with his back to her.  He was leaning against the wall, bracing himself with one forearm over his bowed head, and his staff lay carelessly on the ground behind him.

For the briefest second, she feared that his labored breaths were due to an injury, and she was about to alert him to her presence when…

…she noticed his _other_ arm…

…and how it was bent at the elbow…

…leading past his lower belly…

…and that it was moving…

…up and down…

…very, _very_ fast.

“Oh, fuck……oh, fuck…… _fuck_ , Marianne!” 

**! ! !**


	2. Chapter 2

Marianne blinked once…

…twice…

…three times…

And when the lewd vision before her remained unchanged, she felt scorching heat bloom across her cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears. 

Bog had yet to notice her presence (thank the _stars_ ) but of course, that just meant that he had no reason to stop…what he was _doing_. 

The seconds ticked by, and Marianne was frozen in place, watching as her suitor continued to pleasure himself at a frantic pace.

Gradually, it dawned on her that _she_ must be the reason for this sudden onset of lustful attention.  But how?!  What had she done that turned him on so much he just couldn’t _wait_?

She should be embarrassed!  Okay, she _was_ embarrassed, so…why wasn’t she moving?  Why was she just standing there; gaping instead of getting the heck out of there before he noticed her?  Why were her stomach and palms tingling?  Why, all of the sudden, did it seem like she was having a slight difficulty breathing?  And why was it so damn _hot_ in here?!

Of course, she already knew Bog found her _very_ attractive, but this was a whole new layer to that knowledge.  Seeing the actual _physical_ evidence of just how great an effect she had on him was _empowering_ to say the _least_.  Despite the utter indecency of the situation, she felt her lower belly brim with liquid fire as a mysterious, invisible force tugged at her limbs; towards him. 

She hadn’t the faintest idea of what she was going to do.  All she knew was that every vein, every pore, every hair was alive!  Her chest was nearly vibrating with energy.  She felt dizzy and warm, as if she had a fever; a fever emanating from…down south.

There was no way to pretend that she was on some moral high ground here.  She was a healthy, adult, female, who was madly in love, so, of course, she’d had her own moments.  Not to mention her own fantasies to accompany said moments: that glowworm cave, his throne, the dining room table, and her personal favorite, her room back in the Fairy Kingdom.  Her jaw went slack from her weak mind abruptly picturing him as she had only a few weeks ago…crawling through her window in the dead of night and creeping up to her bed where she was waiting for him; a shy, virginal princess about to be claimed by a savage and lovestruck beast king.             

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a tiny voice was screaming in protest against her baser instincts.  She and Bog had become a couple only two and a half seasons ago, and, because of their past history of bitter heartbreak, had mutually agreed to take things slow, _especially_ in the physical sense.  Staying with him over the winter had been a pretty big step for the both of them, spurred on by the loathsome alternative of being completely separated for at least _three_ months.  Regardless, she had her own private quarters in his castle.  They had yet to share a bed.  And had _certainly_ yet to see each other completely nake-

Or, rather… _exposed_.   

Of course, that didn’t mean that the _desire_ wasn’t there.  Oh, they’d had their various little sessions behind closed doors, or out hidden in the brush.  And all those make-out memories were just feeding the flames in her body and drowning out that tiny voice of reason as she drew nearer to him.

As if blind drunk, she slowly reached out and grazed her fingertips across the base of his spine.

In hindsight, that was probably the _worst_ thing she could’ve done in such a _delicate_ situation, and whether her _timing_ was a blessing or a curse, was up for fate to decide, for no sooner had she touched him than he jumped in shock and immediately followed the movement by seizing up tight as his yelp of alarm morphed into a long, strangled groan of ecstasy from finally hitting his peak, and rope after rope of his pearl-white spend shot forward to hit the dirt wall in front of him.

“ _MARIANNE_!!!”

The flood of molten passion from the sight of Bog’s climax was short-lived for the fairy princess, because his horrified cry of her name instantly snapped her out of her lecherous reverie, and all at once she felt as if her whole head had turned into a tea kettle.  There was an aggravating, high-pitched whistle in her ears, and her face was so flushed, there might as well have been steam rising through her hair.

Staggering back a few steps, she cringed and braced herself for…hell if she knew what, but it was far too late to flee now!  Bog was hunched over, struggling to catch his breath, which he never really did.  Instead, he began shaking and glanced at her with the most petrified look in his eye.

“M-Marianne!  What are ye-?  Oh God, oh God, oh God!”  Bog cried, frantically clawing at the wall to cover his mess with the soil. 

“Bo-Bog, I’m…I’m sorry.” 

Marianne winced; her voice had never sounded so timid, and what a pitiful apology!  But what else could she say?  What _did_ anyone say under such circumstances?! 

“Oh, Marianne, I’m _sorry_!  I’m sorry, I’m so _sorry_!”

_Well then…_

“I-I-I couldn’t help it!  Ye jus’ looked so…so _incredible_!”

 _That_ caught Marianne’s attention, and she cocked her head at him.

“I…I _did_?  When?  Just now?”

“When ye killed that chipmunk.”

 _So that_ was _it!_

“Are you serious?”  She asked, with a small, incredulous laugh.  “ _That’s_ what got you going?  Bog, I looked _terrible_!  I _still_ do!  I'm all bloody, and filthy and-!”

“Beautiful.”

Marianne’s mouth snapped shut and her eyes nearly doubled in size as Bog continued:

“Ye were standin’ there…all dirty an’ fierce…holdin’ yer Fist Kill…like the warrior queen ye really are…an’ then ye said it was…yer _birthday_ gift to me, I…I almost could’ve taken ye right there in front of…”

During his speech, Bog had hesitantly half-turned in her direction, though he still avoided holding her gaze.  When he trailed off, she saw his face immediately grow stricken, and he sort of hunched a bit as he spun back to the wall, crossing his arms over his cro-

_Uh oh!_

“Shit!  I’m sorry, Marianne!  I’m _sorry_!”  Bog wretchedly moaned, sliding to the floor with his knees drawn up and his head in his hands.  “Please, forgive me!  It’ll never happen again!  I’m so sorry!”

“…Bog, w-why do you keep apologizing?  You… _you_ didn’t do anything wrong!”

Technically, it was true.  He _had_ excused himself to be alone, and whatever he did in private was nobody’s business but his own.  So why was he acting like it was a crime punishable by death or something?

“Yes, I did!  I shouldn’t think o’ ye that way!”

Marianne paused and blinked at Bog in frowning confusion for a few beats.  He _shouldn’t_ think of her _that_ way?  What on earth did that mean?!   She almost let out a chuckle at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement!

“Uh, hey…I _vehemently_ disagree with that!”  She argued, taking a bold step forward.  “Bog all this means is that……is that you _want_ me…s-s-sexually.”

Bog flinched at the word, prompting Marianne to come closer and carefully sink to her knees beside him.

“It’s not wrong to feel that way, Bog; especially considering how we’re in a _romantic_ relationship _together_.  Kinda usually comes with it, ya know?  It’s perfectly natural!  I’m not upset with you, or anything.  Believe me, it's okay, I understand.”

When Bog apparently remained unmoved, Marianne pensively chewed her lip.  Steadily, her throat ran dry and her ears warmed as an idea of how to better comfort him took form in her mind, but this wasn’t one of Griselda’s trashy novels; she and Bog weren’t ready to take things _that_ far yet, especially with so embarrassing a setup! 

However, she _could_ tell him the _truth_.

“Bog, I…s-seeing you do that...was sort of a...t-turn on for me…and……I-I do it, too.”

“… _What_?”

Marianne pointedly stared at her wringing hands in her lap as she clarified her confession.

“Y-you _heard_ me…I…… _touch_ myself, and……a-a-and think about _you_.  A _lot_.”

The dead silence that followed was one of, if not _the_ , heaviest Marianne ever had to endure, but after a mental count to about thirty, she just couldn’t avoid his reaction any longer.   

Cautiously, she raised her head, only to be rather caught off guard by the way Bog was gawking at her.  He seemed utterly thunderstruck; frozen like a statue, mouth hung partially open, bright blue eyes wide and full of equal parts astonishment and wonder.

She could practically _see_ the gears turning in his brain!  Knowing him, there was no doubt he was having difficulty comprehending how _he_ could be the object of such lascivious thoughts.  The realization made her discomfort melt away, and a gentle smile lifted her lips.  Silly goblin king!  Someday, she’d convince him of how desirable and attractive he was. 

“Should I _not_ do that?”

“……Uhh…”

“Still think _you_ shouldn’t, either?”

“…I-I……I guess…not…?”

Reaching out, Marianne took one of his large, clawed hands in both of her own and gave it a loving squeeze.

“That’s more like it.  I take it this means you really enjoyed your birthday present?”

Bog blushed, but nodded.

“ _Very_ much.”

For a while, they just sat there together in companionable silence, occasionally sharing shy, tiny grins, both heartened by how such a personal and awkward encounter had done nothing but strengthen their bond, though she was glad he didn’t ask any probing questions about her frequent, but irregular nighttime _activity_.  Despite it being nothing to be ashamed of, she truly believed that was enough sharing for one day.   

Eventually, Bog sighed and patted her wrists with his free hand.

“We should…probably be gettin’ back to the castle.  It’ll be dark soon.”

As Marianne let herself be guided to her feet, she happened to notice a small clump of dead grass rustling just outside the warren, plus, there was a whispery whistle in the air.  The wind was picking up.

“Yeah, you’re right.”  She agreed, experimentally flexing her wings and quietly gasping at the flare of pain.  “Er, though I might need you carry me; the temperature’s dropping, and my wings are still sore from following you out here.”      

“Aw, Marianne!”  Bog soothed, gathering her into his arms and massaging her wing joints.  “What were ye thinkin’?  Riskin’ yer health like that?”

“Well, I was _worried_ ; you just up and took off without any explanation.  Did you really expect _me_ , of all people, to not check on you?”

“Point taken.  I suppose I wasn’t in the most… _coherent_ state o’ mind.  I’m sorry.”

Moaning at the pleasure of his fingers kneading away the ache in her wings, she draped her hands over his shoulders and rose up on her toes. 

“No more apologies.  Kiss me, instead.”

He obeyed her with a playful growl and she shivered at the firm caress of his smooth lips and the few, enticing nips of his sharp teeth.  When her tongue teased his own and his grip tightened around her slim waist, she nearly went limp against his entire front and uttered a mewl of yearning as her hips rolled forward.

And that was when Bog suddenly broke the kiss.

“Ah!  Uh…heh, heh…” he stammered, leaning away while still keeping his hands on her arms, “…probably should cool it fer now, Tough Girl.  Still kinda s-sensitive.” 

It took Marianne a second or two to realize what he meant.

“Oh.  _Oh_!  Oh, um…sorry, Bog!”

Perhaps it was… _indelicate_ , but as Bog moved around her to help tuck and secure her wings back into their bag, she gave into her curiosity and chanced a subtle glance at his…nether regions.  She saw no protruding organ, it must have receded, although the surrounding flesh _did_ seem a bit swollen.

Boy, she was really going to have to bite her fist _hard_ to keep quiet when she was alone in her bed tonight. 

In almost no time at all, Bog had finished his task and Marianne was swept into his strong arms.  Once his staff was safely settled beside her in the crooks of his elbows, he took flight into the frigid, shadowy, late afternoon.

Not a word was exchanged between the two throughout their short journey home, but Marianne wasn’t bothered; none were needed.  She simply rested against Bog’s shoulder and studied his profile: the intense eyes, the cut-glass cheekbones, the stubbly jaw, the sinewy neck, and allowed her imagination to cook up just what she was going to think about later on this evening.  Hopefully, before his _next_ birthday, they would be ready to take the next step together and make these visions a reality.  In the meantime, she _definitely_ needed to go hunting with him more often! 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are life! <3


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